


Monsters

by Twyd



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Break Up, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Love Triangles, Sensuality, Sex, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twyd/pseuds/Twyd
Summary: If Celty had got her head back differently.
Relationships: Orihara Izaya/Celty Sturluson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 67





	Monsters

She is shaking as she gets off the bike. Shooter lets out a little noise of concern, and she runs a soothing hand over the metal. She will calm down, but not yet. Leaving the bike, she takes the elevator up to Izaya’s apartment, and bangs on his door with enough force to raise the dead. 

The informant pulls the door back a crack, and then laughs when he sees who it is.

“That’s quite a knock! I thought you were the Thought Police or something.”

Ignoring this, she holds out her PDA with a somehow steady hand.

_ -Where is it? _

His expression doesn’t change. “Where’s what?”

She pulls back her fist in warning and he backs away, palms out, seeing she is serious. 

“Honestly Celty, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She follows him in and kicks the door shut behind them. Her anger frightens her. She does not want to think about what she might be capable of. At that moment she is almost glad she doesn’t have her head, so he wouldn’t see her crying. She types with less steady fingers.

_ -Please. _

“Just tell me what you’re looking for,” he answers smoothly, unmoved. “And then of course I’ll help you.

_ Fine _ , she thinks, shoving him aside. She will ransack the whole apartment if she has to. If it’s not here she will choke him, she will _make_ him -

“OK,” Izaya says suddenly in a different voice. He lowers his head sheepishly. “I’ll get it. Wait here.”

She stares after his retreating back as he disappears up the stairs. As if he would really bring it to her, just like that. She wonders what would happen if he threw it out the window, if he burnt it. 

But then he is returning, his feet descending the stairs with endless slowness. Between his hands against his chest is her head. The room swims as he comes closer, as her own face approaches. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slack. Izaya stops and stands there. He turns her head around in his hands and studies it.

“You’re pretty cute,” he jokes. 

She stares down at herself. Shinra had known. He had known all this time that it had been here, probably in Izaya’s closet with his socks. 

Izaya had been looking at her - her as in her standing in front of him, not her head in his hands - but now he blinks and looks down again, as her tears slide over his fingers.

“Hey, don’t cry.” He brushes a tear away with his thumb, and she shudders as she feels it with her whole body. He almost looks sorry for once in his miserable life., and holds her head out to her in offering. “Here.”

When she doesn’t move, hesitating, he raises it to her neck himself. He holds her cheeks steady as pain shoots through through her neck and down her spine, as her vision blacks, and air fills her lungs and escapes once more like she’d been struck. She gives a final, wrenching shudder, and opens her eyes. His palms are cool against her cheeks. He stares back at her impassibly, hands framing her head.  Then he smiles. “Suits you.”

She lets out a weak laugh. Then she stops abruptly, the noise of it startling her. He goes to remove his hands and she grabs his wrists to stop them, frightened all of a sudden. The room is too bright.  She can hear the hum of a refrigerator and smell his dark cologne, sensations she had always been aware of, sort of, like a creature in the distance, that was now in front of her and screeching. Most unusual of all was the breathing, the constant inhale and exhale of the world. Still gripping Izaya with one wrist, she cautiously puts a hand to her neck. The skin there is smooth, unridged, normal.

“Come and sit down,” Izaya says, steering her towards his couch. “Hey, I know, I can finally make you some tea!” He sits her down and bounds off, while she closes her eyes (how strange that felt!) in frustration with having to share this experience with someone so ridiculous. But then, she thinks with her gut tightening, anyone was better than Shinra. 

Izaya returns and places a little white cup in front of her, its mysterious green steaming inside. Its fragrance curls up her nostrils. 

Izaya watches her curiously.

“Say something,” he says. 

She raises her eyes to his. He looks expectant, as if she were a performing monkey.

Taking a deep breath she says, “You’re a fucking bastard.”

His lips quirk. Then he has the sense to bow his head. “Yes,” he admits. “How do you feel?”

“...strange,” she says. Very strange, very tired and very, very alone. How could this be happening? She puts her hand back to her throat and squeezes it in wonder.

“Shall I call Shinra?”

She jerks at the name. “No. Don’t you dare.”

“OK. Don’t worry.” He has the nerve to look sheepish. “You know, he really does love you.”

“Shut up, Izaya.” How wonderful to just let it out into the air instead of having to type! He is still looking at her curiously. "You think I'm a monster, don't you?"

His eyebrow quirks. "There's a high standard of monsters in this city," he says. "If you think you're one, you're going to have to step it up."

She avoids his eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. She looks at her tea instead.

"Give it another minute or so," he says, as if she couldn't see the steam curling out of it.

“Do you have a mirror?” she asks him.

“I do, actually. Wait here.”

Her phone buzzes while he’s gone. Her heart sinks when she sees who it is. Clicking on the message, red roses fill her screen, waiting for her on their coffee table at home.  _ For you! Come home soon. Love, Shinra xxxxxx _

She experiences a twinge of unease. Had Izaya managed to text him already? But then, Shinra often thought of little surprises for her, and if Izaya _had_ told him he would be here, not texting pictures of flowers. She deletes the message and puts her phone away, discreetly wiping her eyes as Izaya returns - she hadn't noticed she was still crying until a tear splashed on the screen of her phone.

Izaya hands her a pink and purple mirror, with a glittery 'M' sticker in the corner. She stares at herself for a long time, tilting her head this way and tha, pursing her lips, raising her eyebrows. Discreetly, Izaya goes to get a cup of tea for himself, taking his time about it.

She places the mirror down when he finally joins her, and takes hold of her own cup. It warms her hands as she takes a tentative sip. It is a strange sensation, the warmth sliding down her throat and spreading throughout her body. 

“Good, no?” he says, smiling.

“It’s nice,” she agrees, taking another sip.

“Wait til you try fatty tuna."

Maybe not. She had enough to think about without the plethora of a modern city’s food options. 

“Listen, Izaya,” she says, replacing her cup. Her voice still sounds strange to her, alien, and her fingers twitch with the urge to pick up her PDA instead. “I think you owe me a favour.”

“Maybe I do,” he says neutrally. “What do you want?”

“I want to stay here tonight. In your spare room.”

“And if I don’t have a spare room?”

“Then I’ll sleep in your room, and you can take the couch.”

He chuckles at her tone.

“I was only joking. Of course I have a spare room, and of course you can stay in it. I’ll see if my sisters have left anything that might fit you.”

“And you can’t tell Shinra I’m here,” she adds as he is about to stand. “If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me and you don’t know where I am.”

“Of course.”

She can’t trust him, but she can't bear the thought of going out into the world just yet. So she will stay here and run if she has to. 

“I need to check on Shooter,” she calls to him before he starts up the stairs.  “Don’t lock me out.”

“Sure,” he calls back. “Take my keys.”

There’s a tinkle in the air, before a clump of shining metal lands at the foot of the stairs. 

Leaving the apartment and into the elevator, the dark doors give her reflection back to her. She frowns and looks away. 

Shooter gives a small twitch when she steps out of the elevator. Leans into her when she comes close, itching to change as well. She strokes his flanks and whispers soothing words. Her only friend. She touches her lips to the warm metal. 

She gives him a final pat and goes back up in the elevator. She half expects Izaya to have put the chain lock on his door, out of spite, but it opens easily enough. Thank God he lived alone. Something occurs to her then with a jolt.

“That secretary of yours,” she says to him cautiously.

“Already told her not to come in tomorrow,” he says cheerfully, showing her his phone, the secretary’s reply. Celty relaxes. Maybe, just maybe, Izaya wasn’t so bad after all. He would want to use this against her, but she doesn’t plan on sticking round long enough to let him. 

“Can I use your shower?”

She finds a pink bottle separate from the others, and uses it to shampoo her hair.  What a feeling it was, this lather in her hair, the smell of the suds, the water running over her eyes and into her mouth. She stays in there for a long, long time, trying to drown thoughts of Shinra. She changes back into her catsuit once she is dry, leaving the hoodie and shorts he'd lent her for later. Wiping down the bathroom mirror, she stares at herself curiously. Her hair is darker, sweet smelling. 

Izaya has prepared a fresh cup of tea for her when she returns. He is doing something at the sink, and turns when she comes down the stairs. He looks at her a oddly for a moment, her hair wet, skin damp, but quickly looks away, and she wonders if she imagined it. 

“Shinra really does love you," he says then without looking at her. "He’s just a bit strange.”

Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know why you’re so loyal to him,” she says, surprising herself in how cold she sounds. So many little nuances to discover in her face and her voice, how easy it was to express pain. “He doesn’t like you much.”

“Oh, I know,” Izaya says easily, coming to join her on the touch. “He doesn’t like me at all. But I know him a bit, and I know I’m right.”

Her tears come again. He pats her hand sympathetically, but she snatches it away.

“Do you want to hit me?” he offers. “You can if you want. It might make you feel better.”

“You think I couldn’t hurt you?”

“Oh, I know you could,” he laughs. “But it’s OK. If anyone deserves to hit me it’s you.”

She splutters with laughter of her own at this. Her first laugh. It sends a burst of warmth through her chest. “Half the town deserves to hit you, Izaya. And Shizuo should be the first in line. Not me.”

The informant frowns at this. “Shizu-chan does not deserve to hit me,” he says. “And besides, he’s had enough chances. It’s not my fault if he’s too slow to take them.”

Her heart sinks at the thought of Shizuo, of having to say goodbye to him. For she would have to say goodbye to him, there was no way she could stay in this city now. 

Izaya hands her a box of tissues.  “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Her voice shakes.

“Really.” His voice is low. “Tell me if there’s anything I can do. Anything at all.”

Against her better instincts, her hand squeezes back when he holds it.  How difficult it must be to be human! Yes, she must leave. She must leave Shinra and Ikebukuro and never feel like this again. She leans against Izaya weakly, and he strokes her hair.  It is a nice feeling. It was nice just to be held and to be quiet. Shinra normally chattered away like a budgie as he held her. She lets herself lean against him more firmly, fully aware of the signals this would send out, uncaring. His hand falls from her hair. It ghosts down her jaw instead, as he takes her head in his hands and kisses her.

He pulls back after a moment to study her for outage or disgust. Finding none, he tilts his head and kisses her again. She feels a surge of shock at the touch of his tongue against her own. It felt so intimate, somehow, more sordid even than sex. Her head swims as he kisses her forehead, her eyebrows, her ear, jawline, eyes, nose and finally her mouth again. One of his hands drift down to just above her breast, feeling her heart, and she grips his shirt in both fists, clinging to him without being aware of it. He  starts playing with the zip of her catsuit, giving her ample time to slap his hand away. When she doesn’t, he pulls down slowly, the metal sound delicious in her ears. He kisses her throat then, his hand slipping inside the opened zip. He makes a muffled little noise of protest when his hand comes upon her vest.

“I always hoped you’d be naked under here.”

“Pervert.”

“Yes.”

They kiss again. She puts her arms around his neck, feeling hair as soft as her own. She arches into him as his hand slip under her vest.

He breaks away from her then, twisting his face away, and she stumbles as if she’d been slapped. “What?” she says, heart thudding. Did she feel strange, different, to human girls? _“What?”_

“Shinra.”

A surge of anger goes through her. “Shut up, Izaya.”

“He loves you. I'm his friend.”

“Now is the time you pick to be a good person?” she says in disgust. "Really?"

He looks at her for a moment. Then he reaches out and runs his fingers through her hair again.

“You’re right,” he says lightly, putting his arm around her. “I’m a terrible person anyway, no point in stopping now, ne? I was only thinking of you.”

“Well, don’t. I can think for myself.”

“Let’s go upstairs.”

She almost changes her mind as she follows him up, one hand in his, the others awkwardly holding her unzipped catsuit with her free hand. She wonders if he thinks of her as a monster, if this was some kind of sexual trophy for him. But then she thinks of Shinra and her anger for him, and abruptly decides she doesn't care what Izaya is thinking or what his motives are. In his room, she shakes off his hand and slips her arms free of her catsuit, removing her boots before peeling the catsuit down her hips and her legs. He stares at her, standing before him in only her vest and underwear

Then he tugs her on to the bed with delicious force. She tugs his shirt free of his belt as he kisses her again, sliding her hands against his skin. His body is hard, lean. She pulls the shirt off over his head and undoes his belt. They finish undressing each other, and she realises he is trembling as hard as she is. 

He moves down and teases one of her nipples with his tongue, making her gasp. She bites back a moan as his hands trail her hips and her thighs, teasing close, embarrassed by her own noises. 

"Izaya."

"What?" he says. He sounds as though he may be laughing. She tries to push his head back, and he bites her fingers playfully. "Enjoy yourself. I dare you."

She gives a shudder as he rests his hand over her vulva, but doesn't go any further.

When she doesn't react, he removes his hand and kisses his way down her stomach, and lower, until she can't keep back the cries any more. 

She grips his hair and cries out as he goes down on her, helpless as an animal. Her cunt is still jumping when he moves up and enters her. He kisses her with surprising force, opening her mouth with his own, letting her taste herself on him as he fucks her, and it no longer feels like he's laughing at her. He runs his hands all over her again, nuzzles her hair, put his tongue in her ear, bites her lips before kissing her again. Kissing was such a wonderful thing it broke her heart.

She rarely sleeps, and that night Izaya had not slept either. By morning she feels as though she has made every sound and felt every thing she could possibly feel. 

She is suddenly grateful to him, for the experience. She'd never felt this close to or this good with Shinra when they'd had sex, never. They are both damp, their skin musky against her nose. She senses him ready to sleep, pressed against her, and remembers she had to get home before it got light. Had to face the music with Shinra, who would find her sooner or later.

Izaya stirs when she slips out of bed and follows her. 

When they finally make it back downstairs, he lends her a comb of black wood, and she sits in his lap learning to comb her hair with one hand, holding his sister's mirror aloft with the other. He watches her with an unreadable expression.

“You can stay longer if you want.”

Not for the first time, she reaches automatically for her PDA before remembering. She wonders how long it will take for the habit to die. “No thanks. I need to speak to Shinra.” She meets his eyes in the mirror. “I’m not going to tell him about this, and I don’t want you to either.”

“OK.”

They sit in silence for a while, him watching her watching herself in the mirror.

“Will Shooter get his head back?” Izaya asks then. “Or her?”

“His. Yes. But he doesn’t look much different in his current form.”

He starts to say something else, when there’s a series of bangs on the door. They stare at each other stupidly.

_“Celty?”_ Shinra.

Izaya’s eyes widen. “I didn’t, I swear I didn’t. I don’t know what he’s doing here.”

Before she can react, the doctor’s voice comes again. “I know you’re here," he bawls. "I saw the bike.”

A twitch of irritation comes over her. Putting down the mirror, she pushes herself off Izaya's lap. “Let him in before he wakes the whole damn building.”

Izaya goes. She can hear them talking in the hall. Realising she is still clutching Izaya’s ebony comb, she places it back down beside the mirror. A few strands of her hair poke out of it, but she does not free them. 

She wonders what would have happened if Shinra had come half an hour earlier, when her and Izaya’s hair were still wet from their shared shower, or even earlier, when they were still in bed. She tries to take some satisfaction at this, but feels only guilt, and confusion at how fast it had all happened.

Self consciously, she tugs the zip of her catsuit further up and flattens the hair she'd just been coming. Coming towards her, Shinra is gabbling to Izaya how Celty hadn’t come home last night, how she hadn’t answered her phone, how he was looking for her everywhere. 

When he sees her, it doesn’t seem to register at first who he is looking at. Then his face drains of all colour. “Celty...?” He attempts an awful smile. “You look beautiful.”

Behind him, Izaya looks away.

Celty’s own eyes are hard as she meets Shinra’s. “You knew.”

She can see him trembling. “Celty,” he says. “You have no idea -”

“Let’s go,” she says quickly, not wanting to have a scene in front of Izaya. She steps around them both and starts pulling on her boots. 

Shinra follows her, and starts to make stuttering explanations. She and Izaya exchange one last unreadable look before the elevator door closes between them. 

Shinra keeps stuttering as they ride down the elevator and walk across the parking lot, even as she smokes a helmet over his head, muffling him. She’s tempted to squeeze it over him tighter and tighter until he shuts up for good. Instead, she leads Shooter out into the morning with more force than necessary. She wonders if Izaya is watching them from his window, and deliberately doens’t look up. Behind her, Shinra squeezes her waist as if he means to cut her in half. Now and then, she feels his sobs comes through his arms.

At home, she locks herself in their room and stays there all day.

-

"I know you're leaving," Shinra says, to her surprise, when she finally emerges that evening. His face is ashen. "I can’t stop you. But please, stay a little longer. Let me take you on a romantic dinner just once.”

“I don’t want dinner,” she says, queasy at the thought of food.

“Drinks then. Just one. Anything you want.”

She agrees, if only to shut him up. Then she goes out. She needs to speak to Shizuo, but just the thought of saying goodbye to him breaks her heart, and she mustn't weaken. And what about Anri? Could she really just leave the poor girl?

Yes, she could. She has found what she wanted, and now she was leaving. She rides around the city like a ghost, barely stopping for lights. 

Around midnight, she slows to look around herself, and realises she is in Shinjuku. She finds Izaya's building, but passes it instead, coming to stop in a side street away from the hustle, to call him instead.

"How's the head?"

"Still attached," she says dryly. She'd been wondering whether Shinra would consider removing it again, and shudders. It hurts, how little she could trust him.

"That's good. I've been missing it."

"What?"

He laughs. "I've just realised how creepy that sounded. I promise I did not do anything unspeakable to your lovely head."

"What did you do with it?" she asks curiously.

"Nothing much. Took it out, looked at it. I promise I never dropped it." He pauses. "And sometimes I talked to it."

"You did?" she says, frowning. "About what?"

"Oh, you know. Stuff," he says vaguely. "Nothing traumatic."

There's a little silence.

"So, what are you doing?" he resumes.

She swallows. "Nothing."

"Funny, I could have sworn I just heard a motorbike go roaring past."

"I've still got your key."

"Well, you'd better come give it back, ne?"

-

She doesn't return until morning, just before sunup. 

Shinra is pale, barely alive after two nights of no sleep, but she refuses to look at him.

"Can't we talk?" he calls.

Ignoring him, she goes to their room and starts to pack. Her second night with Izaya had given her some much-needed energy.

She has no idea where she will go, only that she must go. Thank God she and Shinra had always kept their savings separate. She had a decent nest egg, and there were courrier jobs everywhere. It occurs to her then that she needn’t settle for only courrier roles now, but she would think of that later. For now she could think only of leaving. Memories, sensations, have started to come back to her, and she fights against the distraction. 

In the next room, Shinra is talking to someone on the phone. She hopes it is not Izaya. 

Izaya. 

She thinks of his hands, his lips, his alternating force and gentleness. It would be nice, she thinks, if she could have had a week or so in his apartment to adjust, to taste food, to taste all the other things she’d have to get familiar with, while he’d alternately tease her and help her. She does not want to think about what a relief it had been to go back to him. That she would even go to him right now, in the middle of the day, if he called. Not that he would. 

She packs light, not wanting to take much with her. She must calls Shizuo at some point, she thinks. She probably won’t be able to see him, but she has to leave a message at the very least. He is the one person she will be holding on to. Taking up her phone, she finds and books a hotel on the outskirts of Tokyo for that night.

When she resumes packing, she comes across a slinky, strapless black dress Shinra had bought her. She runs her hand over the silk and, on a whim, tries it on. It is too close cut to wear a bra underneath, and the silk feels wonderful against her skin. She stands before herself in the mirror, a virtually human woman, enough to fool anyone. Caught up in the game, she takes off her panties and exchanges them for silky, sexier ones. Keeps digging in the wardrobe until she finds heels, a jet black bracelet. Then she faces her reflection again. She wishes she knew how to do something with her hair.

Shinra has grown silent in the next room. Suddenly uneasy, she calls the informant and crouches awkwardly in a corner to speak to him under her breath.

“Did he just call you?”

“Yes." He pauses. “I didn’t tell him.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s furious with me for giving you your head.” Anger twists in her stomach again. The selfishness, the pain he'd caused her and didn't even regret it. “He doesn't suspect anything. But he says he's not speaking to me ever again.”

“Are you sad?”

His silence answers her.

“Come over,” she says. “I’ll get him to talk to you.”

“No, that’s OK,” he says quickly. “Give him a few days.”

“I won’t be here in a few days,” she reminds him. “Come over. Please.” She doesn’t know what she’s doing, overcome with the sudden, childish longing for him to see her in her black dress. She wants to hurt Shinra, wants to hurt all of them. 

Izaya sighs, but he doesn't argue. He will be there in a couple of hours.

Hanging up, she wriggles out of the dress and hides it back in her wardrobe. Pulling on her usual clothes and grabbing a purse, she hurries out past a bemused looking Shinra, promising to be back soon.

In the beauty salon she’d passed by almost every day, she tells them she wants a makeover and her hair done for a special occasion. Nothing too over the top, but sexy, sophisticated. The beautician smiles at her knowingly. 

Less than an hour later, her face is framed by gentle curls, her skin glowing, eyes outlined and bright. She smiles at herself in the mirror.

Shinra gawps at her when she returns, but she locks herself back in the room without speaking to him. Her hands are trembling as she slips on the black dress. She slips on the heels and some perfume, bought by Shinra, or bought by her for Shinra's benefit. She knows she is being cruel, knows he will be getting his hopes up, but she has every right to be cruel.

The doorbell sounds. She goes still, listening to their voices, Shinra’s hostile, cold, Izaya's quiet.

Steadying herself, she opens the bedroom door and comes to join them in the hallway. They both stop and stare at her. They are standing close together, so it's reasonable of Shinra to think she's looking at him, when really she is looking past him at Izaya. Izaya stares back at her, his eyes burning. He could be angry, but it is impossible to tell.

She forces her eyes to Shinra instead.

“I told him to come. This is all your own fault, so you shouldn’t take it out on him.”

Shinra barely seems to hear her. His eyes are soft as he stares at her. “To think, I thought I’d be the first to really see you, to hear your voice."

Behind him, Izaya shifts uneasily.

“You never wanted to hear my voice,” she points out. “And you tried to make sure you never would.”

“...I should go,” Izaya offers. 

“Yes, go,” Shinra says impatiently without looking at him. “I don’t know why you called him, Celty.”

Izaya gives her one last hard look and is gone. Her knees are weak, throat dry. She thinks for a moment that there might be more to this selfish urge than hurting Shinra.

"Are we going out?" Shinra asks softly, hardly daring to hope.

She swallows. "No."

She goes back to their room and books a cab. Shinra follows her anxiously.

"What? What is it? You're all dressed up already, why don't you want to go? Is it Izaya? Do you want me to make up with him that badly? I'll call him back -"

"No," she says, exhausted all of a sudden.  “I’m just going to drop my stuff off. Then I’ll come back.”

“No, you won’t.” 

Her heart softens. For a moment she almost understands him. She steps forward and gives him a long hug. He clings back like a little boy.

"I love you," he sobs.

_ You _ _don't,_ she thinks silently, but knows better than to argue.

When she manages to pry him off, she pulls a coat over her dress with shaking hands, and goes down to the taxi. She waits until they have pulled away to call Izaya.

"I need a favour."

“Another one." His voice is terse.

“Yes. I’m taking a cab with all my stuff. I need you to bring Shooter.”

“I can’t ride a motorbike.”

“You don’t need to. He knows how to find me. He’ll stop at all the red lights, he'll go slow, he’ll give you a helmet. You just have to get on. Please,” she adds.

He hangs up.

This hurts terribly, of all things, although she hadn't really expected him to help her. She closes her eyes and forces herself to keep it together until she is alone in her hotel room, safe in the anonymity of its walls.

After checking in, she drags her stuff up the elevator and falls on the bed, letting her eyes close. She would have to go back for Shooter and confront Shinra all over again. It was too risky to summon him to come by himself.

She feels something then. She sits up, tensing. Shooter. Izaya was coming after all.

Almost boneless with relief, she pulls on her coat and goes down to the parking lot to wait. 

Izaya's helmet disappears once Shooter comes to a stop. She puts her hand on the bike gratefully. She will take him somewhere where he can be himself again. Maybe Ireland, maybe further than Ireland. 

"Thank you," she tells Izaya.

He studies her, still sitting astride the bike.

“You look like a panda.”

“What?”

He reaches out and strokes his thumb just under her eyes. It comes away black.

“Oh,” she says, remembering the make up, that apparently didn't take well to tears.

His hand moves to the back of her head and holds her for a moment. He's about to kiss her when Shooter jolts underneath him, clearly not liking someone to be so impertinent with his mistress.

“Sorry,” Izaya says sheepishly, giving the bike a little pat.

They take the elevator up to her room.

"Did you see Shinra?" she says.

"No."

In her room, he takes something out of his jacket

“I brought you a going away gift,” he says, and hands her a little green box. “It’s the tea I gave you. It’s nicer than the Sencha stuff most people have.” He places it on top of her bags.

“Thank you.”

She goes into the bathroom to wash her face. She doesn't know what she had been thinking, dressing up like that. He is sitting on her bed when she comes out, and watches her as she digs through her bags for some comfortable clothes. Once dressed, she sits beside him  and puts her head on his shoulder. He leans back on the pillows and draws up his legs, pulling her down with him.  She’s glad he has the sense not to try anything further, not tonight. After a moment he reaches over her and turns off the light, and they lie there in silence. 

"Come with me," she says.

He goes very still against her.

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m flexible.”

“When?”

“This week, ideally. But I can wait around if you need longer.”

He says nothing.

“And if it doesn’t work out,” she continues, feeling the need to say something rational. “We’re both pretty self-reliant. We’ll be all right.”

Her heart jumps, waiting for him to say something. 

"Don't you want to think about this some more," he says. "About Shinra, I mean. About leaving."

"No."

"What if he kills himself?"

"Shinra?" She feels a bolt of alarm. "Do you think he will?"

"No, but he might. He loves you."

"I'm not responsible for Shinra," she says firmly. 

She rarely sleeps, but now she's come to a decision, on the cusp of a new beginning, she feels safe, free, almost happy. She could go to sleep right here in his arms, regardless of what his answer was.

He shifts against her. “I don’t want to go too far from Japan until my sisters have left school." 

It takes her a moment to realise he's saying yes, 

“That’s OK,” she says. “Japan is OK.” She goes still, nervous of him all of a sudden. "You'll really come?"

He chuckles. "Changed your mind already?"

"No," she says. 

She finds his hand in the dark, and he returns the pressure at once.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise I have probably butchered the dullahan legend and the DRRR canon horribly. It was still fun.


End file.
